Minutes (Chicago)

August 5, 2009

posted by Caroline Picard

  • A very small man sat beside a very small boy at a bus stop. It was bright outside and both squinted against the sun; both ate breakfast also: an egg english muffin that looked to have been made at home. “It’s Ok,” the father said, looking down at his nine year-old. “We’re just small people.” Something about the way this was said. I’m not sure I understand it, for the boy seemed not to be listening, his eyes focused on the patch of cement in front of the bench, his mouth chewing the sandwich; he nevertheless sat up straighter and an almost imperceptable flush of pride stole across his fine features. He stopped chewing and gazed long at his own hands.
  • A woman rested on another woman in the park. A third lay perpendicular as a witness. The first was chatty, her voice brassy, she punched through her words like one might kick through gravel. “I know I shouldn’t have told her about Pete, but really. I’m a tattle tale. I can’t keep that in.”
  • At a table a young man spoke of endangered fruit. He said he wanted to save them. He was petitioning the city, he said, to start a farm in an abandoned lot. He asked you to sign the petition.

One Response to “Minutes (Chicago)”

  1. Thanks for the small man and boy scene. That’s very compelling–perhaps because they’re so in their own sphere even in the midst of so many others. Like that a great deal.

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